


Four times Merlin made a fool of himself and One time Arthur did

by Sham



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:54:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sham/pseuds/Sham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>self-explanatory modern AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four times Merlin made a fool of himself and One time Arthur did

1.

When one has, in his backpack, two heavy textbooks, a wallet, a bottle of water, headache tablets, a novel, a jumper, a scarf, two pencils, a sharpener, a ruler, a calculator, assorted paperclips, chewing gum, and a single sock, trying to find any one item is a difficult task.

Merlin knows this very well.

He’s struggling to make his way out the door, head down with one arm being eaten by the depths of his bag, and he isn’t really paying attention as he walks. So, of course, one of the straps catches on the inside handle of the door he’s walking through, and catapults him backwards, the contents of his bag flying out to surround him as he lands on, hmm, a curiously warm and swearing surface.

Merlin lies there, stunned, as wetness spreads in his hair and a voice swears thickly at him, and then, horrified, says, “Oh my god, there’s _blood_ in my _hair_.”

Then there are hands hauling him up, and Gwen, lovely Gwen, who eyes him with concern and maybe the slightest hint of amusement. She turns him around and they both look at the poor bloke on the floor, watching him struggle to sit up with his hands clamped to his nose and one of his mates kneeling next to him.

“What the bloody hell!” The blond guy shouts, and his voice comes out thick and slurred. “Gwen, do you know this idiot?”

Merlin blinks, taken aback, and looks at Gwen who is grimacing, pulling out tissues from her pocket to hand to him.

“Arthur, are you alright?” She asks, helping him to his feet and grimacing at the red coating his chin.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I’m an idiot, oh my god.” Merlin says all in a rush.

“You aren’t wrong there,” Arthur snaps, and wheels around, shaking off his friend’s hand. “Stay the hell away from me, you moron,” and stalks off angrily.

Gwen winces, wrapping her hand around Merlin’s arm, and drags him away, calling over her shoulder to Arthur, “I hope you feel better soon,” inanely.

Merlin cringes again. “ _Blood_ ,” he says miserably, “in my _hair_.”

2.

It’s still only the second week of university, and Merlin hasn’t quite gotten the hang of things, struggling to make it to lectures on time, or with the right books, or fully dressed. He’s just unbelievably grateful that he has darling Gwen and, bizarrely, Morgana Le Fay, her roommate.

Morgana, Merlin has decided, is gorgeous and kind and so terrifying that Merlin cannot sleep with her near him.

He trips into his lecture late, cursing himself, with one shoe only half on and his jumper on backwards, and pinwheels himself to a stop, eyes widening as he meets the gaze of his professor.

“Sorry, Sir,” he squeaks as Professor Gaius raises the eyebrows of herbal doom at him and for once deciding that discretion is the better part of valour, he turns sharply and tries to find an empty seat, preferably one next to Gwen, nearly sprinting up the stairs.

Instead, of course, his eyes meet Arthur, who’s sitting next to Morgana with his arms crossed and slouched, glaring at Merlin. Oh god. Merlin had forgotten how big he was. And how strong.

He stops again, this time as he trips right over a table leg and lands on the floor by Morgana, who snorts aloud even as she smiles, dragging him up with her, oh, terrifying strength.

Merlin kind of wants to die. Just a little bit.

3.

This university lark, Merlin thinks, is actually not so bad once you get the hang off it. That being said, he is in the corner of the library with his hands on his hair, tugging fretfully as he stares down at his philosophy textbook.

“Why, Gwen,” he moans, head hitting the table. “why did I take this subject? Why didn’t I do history like you, or anthropology like Morgana, or, or, or anything else like anyone else? Why would you let me do this to myself?”

Gwen rolls her eyes but smiles at him. “Come on, Merlin, it’s just a small test. It isn’t so bad. And actually, you know what, I think Lancelot took this subject last semester. Would you like me to call him for you?”

Merlin looks up. He has a post-it note stuck to his face. “Gwen, you are a goddess amongst mortals,” he says sincerely. “Please, yes, that would be incredible. _Thank_ you.”

Gwen laughs, and quickly texts Lancelot, smiling to herself. Once that’s done, she glares Merlin into silence, and they both immerse themselves in their work until Merlin’s (large but useful) ears prick at the sound of footsteps.

He cranes around to beam at Lancelot, although his smile falters just a little at the sight of Arthur instead of the man he was expecting. They’ve gotten over their original animosity, well, somewhat, but they still aren’t what you could call friends. Nevertheless, Merlin has grown fond of the prat.

“Hey,” he says quietly, mindful of the quiet in the library.

“Hey,” Arthur says, hesitantly standing by him. He nods at Merlin and bends to kiss Gwen’s cheek politely. “Lance is still showering after football practice, so he sent me up ahead,”

“Oh, lovely,” Gwen says. “You did philosophy last term, right? Merlin needs some help,”

“Yeah.” Arthur looks at Merlin curiously and drops into the seat next to him. “What are you studying at the moment?”

Merlin pushes the book closer to him and colours, just a little, pink creeping up his neck at Arthur’s proximity. Arthur moves a little closer, shifting in as he starts to teach Merlin, voice low and intimate, and Merlin realises with some surprise that Arthur actually seems to know this stuff, to care, and that maybe shouldn’t be so surprising.

But it makes him just a little, just a tad uncomfortable, the hot line of Arthur pressed up his side, and he shifts on the awkward wooden chair until something creaks, he has a split-second to swear, and then he’s on the floor amongst the wreckage with an angry librarian on her way to yell at him.

4.

This one time, _one time_ , Merlin is determined that nothing will go wrong. He will have a good night with his friends without embarrassing himself. It will happen.

It doesn’t happen.

Morgana keeps plying him with liquor, insisting on buying him bright, colourful drinks with ridiculous names, laughing when half of it ends down his shirt. He’s happy, standing with Morgana and Arthur at the bar while Lancelot and Gwen twirl on the dance-floor, a blur amongst other bodies apart from the bright yellow of Gwen’s dress.

Arthur’s standing too close to Merlin, warm along his side, but he doesn’t mind, and instead leans against him a little, feeling sleepy and warm around the edges. He hums softly, and Arthur laughs quietly, leaning around Merlin to look at his sister, voice amused as he says, “I’m going to take him outside for a bit, see if I can sober him up. You’ll be alright?”

Merlin knows without looking that Morgana’s smile is sharp as she shoots back, “I think I can manage myself for five minutes, yes. Now go and look after your Merlin,”

“He’s not ‘my Merlin’,” Arthur says, but he doesn’t sound that irritated to Merlin, and he’s already starting to move them across the club, one arm draped around Merlin’s waist, hand curved around his hip.

Merlin lifts his head when they step into the cool air outside, blinking his eyes open. The silence is nice, but his stomach is starting to feel a little queasy, and he bites his lip for a moment.

Behind him, Arthur clears his throat awkwardly and moves to lean against the wall, not looking at Merlin. “Merlin, you know that- well, I. It’s just that-” he starts, and then stops abruptly, because.

Because.

Because Merlin’s gone and thrown up across his shoes and is listing towards the ground alarmingly.

Arthur sighs. “Bloody Morgana,”

1.

Arthur stands to one side, glaring, as this small girl approaches Merlin, all wide eyes and clumsy-fawn limbs. He watches as they talk, both of them smiling shyly and looking at each other through their bangs, laughter soft and awkward.

It’s disgusting, is what it is, and Arthur really doesn’t need his damned sister to come up beside him and point out what a good time Merlin’s having and what a lovely girl Freya is.

So of course that’s exactly what Morgana does. Bloody harpy.

“They make a good couple, don’t they?” Morgana says, eyeing Arthur slyly, and Arthur feels a headache start to throb behind his temples.

“Piss of, ‘Gana,” he manages, and Morgana’s eyes soften just a little.

“You do know that he has a huge, embarrassing crush on you, right? Ever since you first met, he’s never lost that. He’s well on his way to being in love with you, god knows why.”

“What? No he isn’t,” Arthur says reflexively, but looks at Merlin again.

“He does,” Morgana promises, “but he might not for long. After all, Freya is very beautiful.”

Arthur growls a little, and Morgana laughs in delight, pushing him a little. “Go on, go and get your boy,” she says, and drifts over to Gwen and Lance as Arthur stalks away.

“What was that about?” Gwen asks curiously, and Morgana hushes her and tells her to watch, and the three of them smile when Arthur forcibly drags Merlin away to dip him into this deep, awkward, arching kiss. And then they laugh when Merlin moves to try and drag him closer, their feet somehow tangling, and they somehow end up on the floor in one big, painful heap.

Seems fitting, somehow.


End file.
